Mara Kellison's Arc

Chapter 6 of 6

The morning after the crowd went home, Mara walked her garden alone. The blue rose stood bright on its bush. But Rosa's warning stuck in her mind. One brave night was not loyalty. The villagers had stood for her once. They would not cheer the Kellison name on judging day without a real reason. She had saved a flower, not won a heart. Lucian found her at the gate. He was the traveling storyteller whose tales had made her rose famous across the valley. His satchel hung at his shoulder, his cloak dusty from the road. He leaned on the fence with his half-smile. "The story's spreading," he said. "The woman who faced the warlord. They love it." Then his smile faded. "But stories fade too. By the festival they'll remember the warlord more than you." "Then what do I give them?" Mara asked. "I have one rose. I can't buy their love." Lucian looked past her at the purple bushes, then at the single blue bloom. "You've been guarding that rose like a treasure in a vault. People don't cheer a locked box." He tapped the fence. "You know how to graft. Rosa taught you. The valley's seen a blue rose once. What if every house had a cutting?" Mara went still. "Give them away." "Give them a reason to want you to win," he said. "A rose in their own garden, come from yours. They'll guard your name because it's theirs too." It was a risk. More cuttings meant more plants that could wilt, and her own entry split thin. But hoarding had won her nothing but fear and a warlord. She made the choice. She worked for three days. She took careful cuttings from the grafted bush. She grafted each one onto a rooted stem, the way Rosa had shown her. Lucian carried the little potted plants from house to house. At each door he told the story, then set a living blue rose in their hands. At first the villagers looked at the Kellison gift with doubt. An old woman who had held a rose at the garden that night took hers slowly. She turned the pot in her hands and the blue petals caught the light. "From your own bush?" she asked. Mara nodded. The woman's face softened. "Then I'll tend it well." By the week's end, blue roses bloomed in gardens across Pinehollow. People stopped Mara in the market to thank her. They called her by name, and the name sounded warm now, not cursed. Rosa came to the gate with dirt on her apron. She looked at the thinned bush and the empty pots, and she smiled. "Now you've given them something to lose," she said. "They'll cheer for you on judging day." Mara felt the change settle in her chest. She had won the valley's heart. But her own entry was smaller now, and the finest growers in Pinehollow still stood between her and the crown.